


never inconstant

by freezerjerky



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Literary References & Allusions, M/M, References to Jane Austen, basically self indulgent fic about reading classic lit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezerjerky/pseuds/freezerjerky
Summary: Sometimes Hermann reads to Newt.





	never inconstant

**Author's Note:**

> Based on some twitter conversations with the incomparable [Vic](//archiveofourown.org/users/gloriavictoria).
> 
> Inevitably because of who I am, I bring Jane Austen into everything that I write and do. This is self indulgent. Please enjoy.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ pendragoff and twitter @ newtguzzler

Sometimes Hermann reads to Newt. It started before they were together, back in the Shatterdome, on nights when Newt couldn’t quiet his mind enough to sleep but desperately needed a few hours of rest. On first glance, Hermann seems like the sort who would bury his face exclusively in scientific journals or very dull books. Newt shared this assessment originally and many others may agree. Hermann is, as it turns out, a romantic with a fondness for dusty old things.

The first book he reads to Newt is  _ Wuthering Heights,  _ which Newt remembers shoving into the back of his backpack during his school years and then losing forever. Hermann cuts into his reading with commentary as they sit on the couch, Newt leaning companionably against his shoulder. Newt can almost hear Hermann’s sneer every time he says the name “Heathcliff” as he reads and it makes him smile softly. He falls asleep during the readings always every night, but somehow Hermann picks back up at almost the exact last place he remembers.

They’re in the middle of  _ North and South  _ when they start dating. Despite the parallels of misunderstanding turning into love, the book isn’t actually what brings them together. It’s just apt, and Newt keeps a copy in his nightstand drawer for reasons he can’t exactly place at the time. In retrospect, he realizes this is because he’s in love, and he doesn’t have a deeper answer. For so long, almost anything of Hermann’s he grasped slipped through his fingers, the only thing that remains is the letters from before they met. The letters that had very abruptly ended when they met and misunderstood each other so very immensely for so long. He thinks he understands Hermann now, though.

As time goes on, Hermann reads to him less and less often. They struggle through  _ Jane Eyre  _ for what feels like ages. Sometimes this is because they have other ways to occupy themselves before they go to bed, but increasingly often this is because they work late. Newt finds that he doesn’t want to sleep, even when his body is betraying him with its desire for sleep. Hermann has to coax him to sleep with particularly indulgent passages, running a hand through his hair as he does a rather gruff voice to symbolize Mr. Rochester. (Who Hermann hates immensely. Newt has asked him several times why he likes these books with men he hates, Hermann refuses to answer this.)

Then the war ends and everything is in chaos, more than while it was occuring. Newt’s left in an uncertain state, wondering where to go next in his civilian life. He doesn’t know Hermann outside of their limited world anymore, and feels like he didn’t know him before. The letters, though, revealed a man who proves to be close to the truth. He’s kept them in a box under his bed and reads through them on a regular basis, thinking of the misunderstanding that had led them to ending their tentative friendship.

Honestly, Newt is just blessed that he’s had whatever time he has with Hermann. If Hermann wants to go back to his life in England or Germany or wherever he goes, Newt won’t begrudge him. He’s lucky to have found him and loved him again. 

When he accepts the job at MIT, Hermann smiles and congratulates him, but doesn’t say anything more. It isn’t until Hermann’s started to send him links to apartments in Boston and pack his things as well that Newt gets it. Hermann is coming with him, wherever he goes, and he’s going to make sure that’s perfect, a happy ever after.

 

For their first few weeks in Boston, they’re both too busy to fall into any routine, but after they’ve settled in, Hermann suggests they resume the old routine of reading. Newt is still restless at night. They both have nightmares, but Hermann allows himself to sleep, Newt chooses avoidance. He knows this is a tactic to lull him to sleep and he still gives in.

Their bed is a king size, Hermann insisted they get a queen, but Newt’s insistence to the contrary is stronger. After years on cramped and hard beds, Newt wants the pleasure of both of them spreading out in the bed together and he’s determined to have the largest bed possible.

Hermann sits with his back against the headboard and his bad leg propped up on some pillows. Newt loves the way he looks in his pajamas, soft flannel bottoms with one of Newt’s t-shirts. It’s the most casual Hermann can ever possibly be. Newt curls onto the bed, resting his head on Hermann’s other leg, demanding attention. Hermann grants this by running a hand through his hair.

“Shall we finish tonight, darling?” Hermann asks, his voice soft. They’ve been reading  _ Persuasion  _ which Hermann insists is the superior Austen novel. (Newt only knows the story from the CliffNotes version he read when going on a date with a cute English major back when he was in school.)

“Mhm,” Newt hums. While he’s teased Hermann time and time again for this strange investment in the boring, likely short lives of these romances (And so heterosexual too, honestly! Where were the dashing gay heroes?), Newt had grown to see the appeal. The fondness for a time that seems far more romantic than it must have been makes sense in some strange way, as their own world has been turned on its head too many times.

Newt closes his eyes as he rests his head on Hermann’s leg, listening to the rumble of his voice as he reads. He has the type of voice that Newt imagines sounds good on tape, reading these books for the world. But he doesn’t want that. He wants to have this captured for himself, for Newt and Hermann alone in their room.

He listens attentively as he hears an edge to Hermann’s voice, the way it shifts when something engaging is coming in the reading. The indication that they’re arriving at the good part. It’s never a surprise, but Newt wouldn’t change it for the world. There’s a letter exchanged and Newt immediately thinks of the beauty of that moment, how wonderful things told in letters can be.

“You pierce my soul,” Hermann reads, “I am half agony, half hope.” He pauses then. “Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever.”

It’s hard not to remember some letters of his own, full of love and desire and promise.

“I offer myself to you again,” Hermann continues, and his voice wavers, “with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.”

Oh, Newt thinks alarmingly of the parallels, things he had not seen during the reading, even if he feels them acutely now. The distance of time, enforced by hesitance, by making the wrong choice. He had chosen wrong then, and he chooses correctly now.

“I have loved none but-” Hermann puts the book down. Shifting to sit up, Newt can see that Hermann is wiping at his eyes, a rare show of emotion.

“Dude,” Newt says, leaning forward to wipe away a single tear on Hermann’s face. His face feels wobbly and he sniffles, taking the book in his hands. After a few moments, he finds the spot where Hermann had stopped reading. “I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.” 

He has to place the book aside then, wrapping his arms fully around Hermann, careful to avoid his bad leg as he moves closer. Pressing his face into Hermann’s neck, he lets himself cry.

“My apologies, Newton,” Hermann says, rubbing a hand on Newt’s lower back. “There was a bit too much truth in that reading, I suppose.”

When Newt pulls away, Hermann cups his cheek, wiping at the tears. He probably looks snotty and blotchy from trying not to actually sob, but Hermann looks at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

“It’s alright. I just am glad we got this chance to be together, after our days as pen pals ended so disastrously,” Newt answers, and he means every word if it. He’s lucky. Luckier than any of these romance novel heroines.

With a smile, Hermann leans him in and kisses him softly because all love stories should end with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The quoted bits are, obviously, from Persuasion by Jane Austen. One of my personal favorites.


End file.
